Hous3 HMD
by collegesweetheart
Summary: When a member of Don's team get's sick, no one can work out what's wrong. Except perhaps Dr. House. HOUSENUMB3RS Crossover. CHAPTER 6 UP.
1. Chapter 1

This is just a little Numb3rs/House crossover that smacked me in the head last night. Please r&r people. Oh, and I don't normally watch Numb3rs, cos it's on at the same time as Grey's Anatomy, but I hope I did okay here. And I've only seen bits of season one, so I guess this is AU (derr), cos Terry's still here.

I think this is going to be more House, with the Numb3rs characters. Make sense? Good. It's also my first attempt at House _or_ Numb3rs.

* * *

"Terry, I need you and David to go speak to the sergeant again. Find out exactly when and where the threat was made. I'm going to go get Charlie." Don Eppes was in full rocket mode as he shot out commands to his team. Grabbing his suit jacket from where it lay on the back of his chair, he snatched the keys off his desk and practically flew past the other agents in the bullpen. Terry and David quickly followed Don out of the building and jumped into the neighbouring SUV.

As he drove down the freeway, Don scrubbed a hand across his hair, letting out a frustrated breath. He had been so sure that they'd had this joker. He'd as much as admitted that he had caused the deaths of those three girls. But there was no evidence, _none, _that linked him to them, or even the scenes of their deaths. Damnit, he was an FBI agent. Why the hell couldn't they find something, some little loophole that would have allowed them to hold this guy for a little longer?

* * *

Chase threw a bouncy-ball at the glass wall of the diagnostics room, the irritating pop covering the click of heels almost perfectly. As the four staff mulled around, attempting to come up with a diagnosis for their 38-year old patient, House was busy perfecting his death glare on the oblivious Australian. Cameron was the first to notice the time, pointing out that not only did she have to check on their patient, as they had been deep in debate for nearly two hours, but House was (once again) late for clinic duty.

"Well if Dr. Funbags wants me badly enough, she can come and get me." House flippantly replied. "Some of us actually do our jobs around here." Smugly, he returned his attention to the gameboy in his hands.

"Clearly you are not one of those doctors, House." The firm, feminine voice of "Dr. Funbags" came from behind him. Foreman swallowed a chuckle at the deer-caught-in-the-headlights look on House's face.

Pushing with his cane, House spun the chair around, his face now perfectly neutral. "I knew it."

"Knew what, House?" Cuddy was tired and frustrated and _really_ couldn't be bothered dealing with House today.

"I knew you wanted me." With that parting comment, House stood and left the office, heading towards the clinic, leaving a chuckling Foreman and a shell-shocked Cuddy.

* * *

Little button people. Cmon. 


	2. Chapter 2

"You have a minor strain of the flu."

"But I don't have a sore throat or anything!" House cleared his throat impatiently as the man rattled off a thousand reasons why he couldn't possibly have the flu.

"You feel cold, yet you have a temperature. You can't stop shaking. Your muscles ache. You have the flu." Gently pressing his cane across the small of the patient's back, House ushered him out of the room, handing him his file as they exited.

* * *

"Charlie!" Don yelled for his brother as he entered the house. After a moment, a mop of curly hair appeared over the edge of the banister. "We need you."

"Uh, okay… sure… just give me a second to finish up with these lecture notes and I'll…"

"'We' FBI Charlie, not 'we' Dad and I. C'mon." Don motioned with a sweep of his arm to emphasize the need for speed. The younger man's face creased slightly in thought as he ducked back into the room to grab his laptop. Taking the stairs two at a time, he joined his brother as they exited the house.

* * *

"What's up?" As soon as he had settled into the passenger seat, Charlie realized he hadn't asked where they were going, or why. Don pressed back into the seat and pushed a strained breath through his lips. He knew Charlie was sensitive to death. Unlike Don, Charlie couldn't distance himself from the victims. While Don had learnt to understand and control his emotions, Charlie had learnt to understand and control mathematics. That wasn't to say Charlie was sociallyinept, he just had a hard time dealing with emotions – such as grief and shock – that he didn't encounter in daily life. In a way Don was glad for this, but callous though he knew it must sound, it often made the job of getting his brother involved in a case all the more difficult.

"Charlie, you know the case that the media has been all over, about Natalie Anastas?" When a blank look crossed his brother's face, Don continued "She was found dead in her apartement. According to her doctor, she'd been staying home from work with a headcold."

Charlie nodded. If it had been left at that, nothing would have come of it. But later that week another girl, Lolita James, had been found dead in similar circumstances. Coincidence perhaps, although the deaths of two 20-somethings from a simple cold started sounding some alarm bells in the heads of the FBI's bioterrorism team. They had decided to keep a quiet eye on things when the Los Angeles Police Department received a threat of another death. A week later, and the family of a third young victim were being consoled. After the death of Louise Mayer, Don's team had received a tip-off about the threat-maker. Two hours later, Jesse Anderson was in the holding cell at the local precinct, looking mighty smug as one of LA's finest commenced the interview.

* * *

_Homicide Detective Perce Washington looked nothing like a man of his rank should. That was the first thought to cross Don's mind as he studied the interview from behind the one-way mirror. The man was old, graying, slightly built… In fact he reminded Don of the elderly Italian men who sat in parks playing chess while their gossiping wives looked on. Obviously Anderson was having the same thoughts, a smirk crossing his face as he observed his interviewer._

_Terry, standing next to Don, leant across and whispered in his ear._

_"He thinks he has the upper hand. He's young, strong and arrogant. This old detective is past his prime. They brought him in here on a traffic charge, but he knows they know something. See the way he's slouched? He thinks he looks like he doesn't care. Instead, he looks like he's trying too hard."_

_After a moment or two of silence, the softly spoken detective jerked his head in the direction of the mirror._

_"We're allowing the FBI to train a criminal profiler in the observation room. Is that okay with you, Mr. Anderson?" Don lips quirked into a small smile as he realized Washington's plan. It appeared to work too, as all observers noticed a slight yet recognizable deliberateness to Anderson's movements._

_"Sure Detective, anything to help my country." Smug bastard, Don thought, and a glance at his partner convinced him she was having the same thoughts._

_"So, Mr. Anderson, before we begin, are you sure you don't want a lawyer present?"_

_"I think I might want to call her now, thank-you sir."_

_Soon after that, the interview ended. Anderson was clearly not going to help them, his lawyer made sure of that. She had argued that a traffic infringement was no grounds for a police interview, and as the arresting officer had made no actual complaint against her client, he was to be released immediately. Without any evidence, other than the anonymous tip, there was nothing that could be done. But Terry and Don were both convinced – even if he wasn't the killer, he was a part of the crime._

* * *

Sorry I have to leave it like this guys, but I have to go to work in 20mins! Lol. I know there was pretty-much nil House in this. Sorry sorry sorry! Had to do some background stuff. Thanks everyone for the wonderful reviews. Keep it up:p

-Cass.


	3. Chapter 3

Wow. sorry about the long pause. I finally have a day off today, so i started writing again. please r&r people!

* * *

The SUV rolled to a halt. Two marked squad cars had mounted the curb, and another plain car indicated the presence of plain-clothes detectives. An unmarked black SUV – David and Terry's – was parked not much further away, beside an ambulance. Two paramedics stood talking to an officer, an empty stretcher evidently waiting for clearance to move the body. A small crowd of curious onlookers stood gawking outside a nearby café.

The brothers got out of the car, and Don moved around the side and indicated towards an upstairs window.

"Apartment 3B. Victim's name was John Boyer. Lived alone, never turned up for work yesterday. Apparently it was so uncharacteristic that the Super was persuaded to use his master key. Found the body in front of the TV." Charlie nodded, his brow creased. "Do you remember that case you helped us with a few months ago? The one where people were getting sick on public transport?"

"With the guy spreading the disease in an aerosol can?"

"That's the one. Well, we need your help with this one too. It seems fairly similar. This is the third person in less than two weeks to die from what seems to be a cold. They were all aged between 20 and 35, and all seemed healthy. I need you to do what you did last time, we need to know if this is the same sort of thing."

Charlie followed Don to the ambulance, where they received a pair of gloves and a surgical mask each. As he put his mask on, Charlie turned to question his brother.

"Do you have any idea what's causing this?" Don paused for a moment, thinking.

"According to the autopsy on the first and second bodies, there was nothing really to link them. The first victim apparently died of septicemia, and the second of an asthma attack brought on by a severe coughing fit."

"So why does the FBI have any interest in the case?"

"Because post 9/11 and the Anthrax scares, we need to check out any of these things. Technically, the Centre for Disease Control should handle cases of suspected bioterrorism, but because we have no proof of that, the FBI has jurisdiction until we do. The ME who conducted the autopsies is on his way here now. Unfortunately, the two victims' bodies have already been released and buried, but this new victim will be autopsied in far greater detail. We have to stop this, whatever it is."

* * *

When the ME, Dr. Carlson, arrived, he immediately ordered that the body be sealed in plastic and taken to the morgue. Outside, Terry, Don, David and Charlie stood by their cars, waiting for him to finish. David rubbed his face where the mask had been, his face still itching,

Soon enough, Dr. Carlson exited the apartment building and made his way over to the FBI agents. Don introduced himself and his team, and asked the doctor if it would be possible for him to watch the autopsy.

"Of course, but I'll be performing it as soon as we get back to the morgue."

"That's fine, doctor. Just quickly though, may we ask you a few questions?"

"I don't see why not."

"It was you who performed the first two autopsies, am I right?" The ME nodded. "Did you run any blood work?"

"Yes, there was no evidence to suggest major viral or bacterial infection, if that's what you're getting at. Both girls had cold-like symptoms, but it was possibly a coincidence. Whatever the case, I will be getting the blood work double-checked this time, and I have CDC on standby if I discover anything out of the ordinary. They both had small abscesses on their lungs, but those aren't terribly abnormal. A lot of things – non-fatal - could have caused them."

"I was wondering, if you had to guess - without any medical knowledge of the autopsy results - what was causing these deaths, what would you say?"

The older man thought for a moment. He seemed slightly mystified as to the reasons behind Don's obscure question. "If I had to guess, I'd say that these three victims probably had some connection in the past two weeks. They could have all experimented with a substance that is invisible in blood work." The doctor stopped to sneeze. After Terry handed him a tissue, he continued. "I'm not very sure why you're asking these questions, Agent Eppes. Like I said, you're welcome to sit in on the autopsy, but CDC told me to tell the FBI that they would run a culture for Anthrax if I sent them a sample, which I plan to do. I honestly don't know if I can be much more help."

Don glanced sidelong at Charlie. If CDC thought there was a possibility of Anthrax, Charlie's job was now even more vital. If this was an infectious, contagious disease, they had to contain it, and fast.

* * *

Charlie and David returned to the FBI's office to get started on researching the victim's backgrounds. Terry and Don, however, made their way to the City Morgue behind Dr. Carlson's car.

They had just walked through the morgue's reception when Don's cell rang. They continued following Dr. Carlson, Terry striking up a conversation about the increasing possibilities of biological warfare with the ME while Don talked quietly.

"Terry, wait." They had just been about to enter one of the autopsy rooms when Don's voice halted them. He muttered a few words to the person at the other end of the line and flipped the phone shut. Both Terry and Dr. Carlson had turned and were looking at him. "There's another body and two possible surviving victims. They've just been discovered and we have to go investigate any possible connections."

Terry nodded. "Okay, do we need to take Charlie and David?"

"No, they're to stay at the office and start working on a program to determine patient zero, if we can find them." Don turned to face the ME. "Dr. Carlson, I'd like to say thanks for the invitation, but we really have to go now. If you need to contact me, call the FBI switchboard and they'll patch you through to my cell."

The doctor extended his hand and shook Don's. "If you don't mind my asking, Agent Eppes, whereabouts were these new victims found?" Don shifted his eyes from the doctor to his partner, and back again.

"They're in New Jersey."

* * *

Yes, it was short, i know. I usually run out of steam quickly on my chapters.

-Cass.


	4. Chapter 4

_As you may have already guessed, not only do I not own House or Numb3rs, but I actually don't know much about the Numb3r's characters' histories. So I kinda made it up. I hope it doesn't go against anything revealed on the show. This will be shorter than the rest, cos my time off got cut short also. Dang work. UPDATE okay, i tried posting this several times yesterday, but it wouldn't upload. Now it has._

_-Cass._

* * *

"Three patients. All were admitted in the past hour, all complaining of tightness in their chests, and general 'flu-like symptoms."

Chase looked up from where he sat reading at the table. Cameron and Foreman, who had been discussing a previous case by the window, both stopped talking and turned to House, who had just flung open the office door and stalked in. He slapped three manila folders onto the table. Chase recovered quickest from the intrusion and spouted off a diagnosis.

"They have the 'flu."

"Thank-you, Captain Obvious. Unfortunately, they probably don't."

Cameron ignored House's biting remark. Chase rarely got the diagnosis right anyway. She looked at her boss, a puzzled look on her face as she slid her reading glasses off. "Why don't they have the 'flu?"

Foreman remained quiet, and Chase glowered.

"Ah, now you see, here's where this gets messy. The Feds have had a couple of deaths from 'flu-like symptoms in the past week. And the Feds being the Feds, they have decided its bioterrorism. CDC has sent around a memo to all the major hospitals in the US asking us to hold anyone who has developed these symptoms 'overnight'."

"Okay, so why do _we_ have the cases?"

"Because Cuddy is trying to take revenge on me. Because God hates me. Because this will finally be the case that cracks through my icy heart and touches me in a special place. Not _that_ special place Chase, gees, grow up. Why do we have the case? I don't know. But we do."

"So what do we do?" Foreman finally spoke up, asking the same question that plagued all of their minds.

"We wait. The Feds are on their way here. Flying in from sunny old LA."

* * *

Don gently shook Terry's arm as the plane taxied along the runway at Newark International Airport. His partner groaned slightly and turned her head away. Don shook her shoulder again.

"Terry. We're here." The woman kept her eyes closed, but quietly muttered a curse. Don smirked. The pair shifted uncomfortably in their seats as they waited for the plane to come to a full stop before undoing the seatbelts.

As they walked, laughing at a private joke through the busy airport and out into the cab queue, Terry hugged her coat tighter around herself.

"This is why I live in California. It's warm, even in winter. Snow is pretty, but I don't think I could stand having to scrape ice off my windshield before I could even drive to work in the morning."

They hailed a cab and the driver put their bags in the trunk. Don held open Terry's door for her, and slid himself in once she was over the other side. He gave the destination to the driver, and turned back to face Terry.

"I don't know. Sometimes I think it'd be nice to have a white Christmas. And New Jersey doesn't seem to have the same amount of pollution as LA."

Terry nodded her head. "Don, I grew up in Vermont. I've seen enough white Christmases to last me a lifetime. Give me sunlight and slush-free roads any day."

"Don't forget, you're talking to the guy who first saw snow only after joining the FBI."

"What a sheltered life you led, Don Eppes." A sly grin crossed Terry's face as she teased Don. Their eyes met for a moment before they both looked away, shaking their heads and laughing.

* * *

Dr. Cuddy was tired. She had spent the morning filing paperwork and stalking Dr. House through the corridors of PPTH, and now she had the Feds coming to assess three of the Diagnostic Department's patients for a possible act of bioterrorism. She sat hunched over in her chair, swiveling slightly from side to side behind her desk as she rubbed her fingers across her worried brow.

Buzzing through to her receptionist (or a House referred to him, her "Mr. Spanky"), Cuddy checked that she had no appointments for the next half hour, and slipped her heels off, stretching her toes and running her stocking-ed feet across the carpet beneath her desk. The relief of having at least one part of her body relaxed was cut short by the sound of a short, sharp buzz, and a static-y male voice telling her that she had visitors. She sighed.

"Show them in please, Ralph."

* * *

Next time: First impressions, and Meet the Patients.

Please R&R! I live for reviews! (and they make me feel guilty and write more)

-Cass.


	5. Chapter 5

Foreman was attempting to gather a history from one of their patients, Mr. James Loane, when Cuddy entered the room, followed by a silent, stiff looking man and slightly more approachable woman. Both wore black suits, the woman's smaller frame was complimented by a slight smile on her lips. The man, however, just quietly asked Cuddy a question, and then stood with his back to the window, observing Foreman as he worked. He looked up from the chart he was writing on, a questioning look aimed at Cuddy.

Cuddy quickly introduced the neurologist to Agents Eppes and Lake. The woman, Lake, stepped forward and held out her hand.

"Terry, please. And this is Don."

"Eric."

Terry looked at Foreman. "Is it okay if I ask him a few questions?" she asked, jerking a thumb in the patient's direction.

"Sure, no problem." This woman reminded him of Cameron. He was sure she wasn't as sweet and innocent, but she seemed genuinely nice and had a way with people. He could also see from the slightly protective stance of Agent Eppes – Don – that she had a way of making the men in her life feel a need to look out for her, even if they knew she could handle herself. Turning back from the patient to face Dr. Cuddy and Don, he suggested that they move into the diagnostics office to talk. "I've finished the history, and it might be best if we leave Terry and Mr. Loane to talk in private." He glanced back at the patient. "Mr. Loane, Dr. Cameron will be in soon to run some tests."

* * *

House ambled along the corridor thinking. He had tried sitting in his office. He had tried listening to his i-Pod. He had even tried stalking one of the pediatric interns to see how long it took until they noticed. As much as House liked the idea of an outbreak of mass proportions, he honestly couldn't see it happening. The man who had diagnosed an epidemic after seeing two sick babies didn't like the idea of bioterrorism.

_So three people have died from what seems like the 'flu. But influenza doesn't kill healthy 20-somethings. Old people and babies, yes, not the ones in the middle. Not like this, anyway._

He had to talk to the Feds. Actually, he was planning to anyway. House hated the folks from CDC, but the FBI… they were different. He had been hooked to _The X-Files_ a few years back, and always wanted to meet a real-life "Scully-and-Mulder" team. A smirk crossed his face as he wondered if 'the truth is out there'.

* * *

Dr. Cameron had been filling her time by cleaning the coffee area of their office. Chase was trying to catch up on his clinic hours – palmed off to him by House, Foreman was with the patient, and House was missing, so she had settled for some manual labor to let her think. She hummed softly to herself while she rinsed to coffee maker and started to brew a fresh batch, not realizing that House had crept silently in.

"Mmm, coffee. Thank God it's you with time on your hands, not Chase."

Cameron blushed and whirled around to face her boss, instantly smoothing her expression and looking him in the eye.

"Dr. Cuddy was just in here looking for you. She wants you to be nice to the Feds, and she said that they were going to the patients'wards to see how everything was going. They'll be back here in about 10 minutes. I was about to go page Foreman and Chase."

She scuttled out of the room before House could reply.

* * *

Okay, so I know this is very very short and not my best work, but I have no free time right now, and a friend is staying with me for a week, so this is as good as it gets right now.

-C.


	6. Chapter 6

A gruff old man sat behind the solid oak desk in the office. As Terry, Don, Cuddy and Foreman entered, Terry was struck with the realization that he actually wasn't as old as she first thought. His eyes were closed, sneakers propped on the desk, the thin white cords indicative of an iPod trailing down from his ears. Where she had first seen age, Terry now saw an immaturity that seemed to suit the man. She realized that he couldn't be more than 45, despite the weathering of his face.

Cuddy gave an exasperated sigh and stalked up to the man's desk, dropping a pile of clipboards and charts from a height of about 3 feet, resulting in a loud bang. Strangely, the man didn't flinch. After a moment, he cracked one eye open and studied Cuddy.

"Come to apologize?"

Cuddy stared at him, so he continued. "You know, apologize. The thing you do when you were wrong, I was right and the little words 'I'm sorry, House' come out of your mouth." Cuddy's lips tightened, and Terry and Don had to suppress a smirk at the ease with which this man had frustrated and flustered her.

"Dr. House, these are the _FBI agents_ I told you were coming here. Would you _please_ tell them what you know about the cases." From the stresses Cuddy put on certain words, Terry could already tell that Dr. House made a regular habit of misbehaving in front of visitors and, she suspected, misbehaving when there were no visitors as well.

"So what, no apology?" Cuddy decided it would be best to take the bait.

"Apologize for what exactly, House?"

"I don't know. But isn't that why you usually come to my office? Because I was right and you were wrong? That or it's that time of the month and you can't find Wilson to chat up."

Cuddy flushed. House grinned. Don cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry if we're interrupting something, but could we talk about the case? We really do need to find out what is causing these deaths, and we need to do it before anyone else gets hurt."

House looked up from where he sat, swung his legs off the desk and leant heavily on his cane as he stood up.

"I guess that depends on whether I get any names. I mean, I could go through this whole thing calling you Scully and Mulder, but that could get confusing."

Don introduced himself and Terry, and found himself slightly irritated by the liberties this older man took. House reminded him of the specialists who had treated his mother before her death. He was rude, narcissistic and almost had a god-complex. Still, he was one of the best diagnosticians in the country, and the only one who was treating patients with probable connections to their case. As House begun to limp out of his office and into the diagnostics room, the small crowd followed him. Foreman snorted a laugh at the way his boss was playing up the 'cripple' angle. Only House could know how to manipulate people to see him as vulnerable and yet offend them at the same time.

Two hours later, and the crowded diagnostics office still contained a whiteboard with several possible diseases, none of which was a perfect fit for the symptoms – except influenza. Dr. Cuddy had been forced to leave to attend a meeting, but Cameron, Foreman, Terry, Don, Chase and House, and the newest addition – Wilson still sat around the table, puzzled.

Terry and Don listened on in interest as the doctors flung diseases and responses across the table at each other, occasionally lapsing into side conversations with the two agents about the symptoms of the previous victims.

Dr. Cameron shifted uncomfortably in her seat before launching another disease at House, who stood at the whiteboard.

"Infectious Mononucleosis."

Before she had even finished closing her mouth, Chase had rebuffed her. "Not deadly. Could have caused the complications which lead to their deaths, but the symptoms are too severe. It's difficult to diagnose, but that shouldn't have stopped it showing up in the bloodwork from the victims in LA."

House nodded his approval at the Australian doctor's rare display of intellect. Foreman turned to the two agents.

"Terry, how long did you say the victims had been home sick for?"

"Just under a week each. That's why it's so important for us to separate anyone who shows these symptoms. When I was talking to them now, the two patients told me that they both arrive in New Jersey yesterday afternoon for a conference. They said they were both on the same flight, but never saw each other. One was flying business class, the other coach." Foreman nodded and all five doctors grew silent in thought.

Wilson was the first to speak.

"So they both live in LA. Both fly across the country to go to a conference. Neither have met before, and they are coming from the place where the disease seems to originate."

House looked up at his friend, trying to determine where this was leading. "What are you getting at, Jimmy?"

"Well, what if this isn't an infectious disease. What if these people have all come into contact with some environmental issue that had compromised their immune system to some extent, enabling a simple case of influenza to attack their bodies?"

"That could explain the lack of evidence found during the autopsies," Foreman supplied "but what causes immune problems to this extent? I mean, I'm going to assume that we're excluding HIV."

"Ding ding ding, Foreman, you win a candy bar. Now does anyone have anything _helpful _to suggest?" House stalked across the room and filled his coffee mug.

After a moment Cameron spoke up. "Leptospirosis? It would explain the short incubation period and the selectiveness of the targets."

"Oooh, cool diagnosis. Dirty soil transmits the bacteria and random people become sick. Me likey."

House made his way back to the whiteboard and scrawled the diagnosis across the top. He turned back to his team and began handing out orders.

"Cameron, I want you to go back and question the patients about any contact they may have had with barnyard animals, soil, or contaminated water. Chase, go run cultures. I want spinal fluid, blood, and saliva run. Foreman, you can take our guests on a quick tour. Looks like they won't be needed here for much longer, so the trip may as well be educational in some way or another."

* * *

Hey guys, I know that wasn't quite in the same strain as the other five chaps, but I'm being begged to relinquish the PC, and I'm staying wth friends for a few weeks. Until next time

Au revoir,

-c.


End file.
